Cater Street Hangman tp-1

by Anne Perry

  “Damned unpleasant, though. Feel as if no one tells me what they mean anymore. See meanings behind meanings, if you understand me?”

  “Thing I can’t stand is the maids looking at one as if one were. . ”

  And so it went on. Dominic heard the same views over and over again; the embarrassment, the anger, the bewilderment-and, something worse, the almost inevitable sense that somewhere close, to someone they knew, it would happen again.

  He wanted to forget it, to go back for a few hours to the way it was before the first murder.

  Dominic was delighted a week later to see George Ashworth, dressed very formally, obviously ready for a night out.

  “Ah, Corde!” Ashworth slapped him on the back. “Coming for a night’s entertainment? As long as you don’t tell Sarah!” he smiled, meaning it as a joke. It was unthinkable, of course, that Dominic would say anything. One did not mention such things to women, any women, except bawds.

  Dominic made up his mind instantly.

  “Exactly what I need. Certainly I’ll come. Where are we going?”

  Ashworth grinned. “Bessie Mullane’s, to end with. Perhaps one or two other places beforehand. Have you eaten yet?”

  “No.”

  “Excellent. I know a place you will like, quite small, but the best food and the most entertaining company.”

  And so it proved. It was certainly a little bawdy, but Dominic had never eaten a richer, more delicately cooked meal, or enjoyed such free wine. Gradually he forgot Cater Street and all those who lived there-or died there. Even Sarah’s present foolishness disappeared from his mind with the good spirits and conviviality of the company.

  Bessie Mullane’s proved to be a cheerful and extremely comfortable bawdy house where they were lavishly welcomed. Ashworth was obviously not only known, but quite genuinely liked. They had not been there above half an hour when they were joined by a young swell, extravagantly dressed and a little drunk, but not yet objectionable.

  “George!” he said with evident pleasure. “Haven’t seen you in weeks!” He slid into the seat beside him. “Good evening, sir,” he inclined his head towards Dominic. “I say, have you seen Jervis? Thought I’d take him out of himself a bit, but can’t find him!”

  “What’s the matter with him?” Ashworth enquired pleasantly. “By the way,” he indicated Dominic, “Dominic Corde, Charles Danley.”

  Danley nodded.

  “Silly fool lost at cards, lost rather a lot.”

  “Shouldn’t play more than you can afford,” Ashworth said without sympathy. “Stay with your own level of game.”

  “Thought he was,” Danley curled up the corners of his lips in disgust. “Other fellow cheated. Could have told him he would.”

  “Thought Jervis was pretty comfortable?” Ashworth opened his eyes indicating it was something of a question. “He’ll recover. Have to curtail his entertaining for a while.”

  “That isn’t it! He was stupid enough to accuse the bastard of cheating.”

  Ashworth grinned. “What happened? Did he call him out for a duel? Should have thought after all that scandal with Churchill and the Prince of Wales five years ago he’d have steered clear of anything like that!”

  “No, of course he didn’t! Apparently the cheating hadn’t been particularly well done, and he was able to expose it without any effort-which he was idiotic enough to do!”

  “Why idiotic?” Dominic interrupted from sheer curiosity. “I would have thought if a man were crass enough to cheat, and do it badly, he deserved whatever came to him?”

  “Naturally! But this was an extremely ill-tempered fellow, and with some weight of influence. He’ll be ruined, of course! Ultimate sin, to cheat badly. Implies you don’t even have the respect for your fellows to do it well! But he’ll make damned sure he takes poor Jervis with him.”

  Ashworth frowned. “How? Jervis didn’t cheat, did he? Even if he did, he wasn’t caught, which is the main thing. After all, everyone cheats. The accusation will look mere spite!”

  “Nothing to do with cheating, dear fellow. Man’s married to Jervis’s cousin, of whom he’s very fond-Jervis, I mean.”

  “So?”

  “Seems she has a lover, which is common enough, and nothing in itself. Gave him five children and he’s bored with her, and she with him. Understandable. All perfectly all right, as long as it’s discreet. Seems she wasn’t. Country weekend, didn’t lock her door. Someone came in, mistaking it for another lady’s room, and found her with some fellow or other. Upshot of it all is that this wretched cheat threatened to divorce her.”

  Ashworth shut his eyes.

  “Oh my God. She’d be ruined!”

  “Of course. Upset poor Jervis no end. Very fond of her, apart from the family name and all that. Makes things dashed difficult for him in society, cousin who’s divorced.”

  “And your cheating feller gets away with it scot-free?”

  “Quite! Having a deuced good time; he’ll marry again, when it suits him. And she, poor creature, an outcast. Teach you to lock your doors.”

  “Didn’t catch her himself?”

  “Gracious, no. He was in bed with Dolly Lawton-Smith, oblivious to the world. But that’s irrelevant. Different for a man, of course.”

  “What about Dolly? Wouldn’t do her any good.”

  “Nor harm either. Everyone knows about everyone else; it’s what is seen that counts, and the vulgarity of being caught. Instead of being a bit of a fellow, makes one look ridiculous. And divorce is of no great importance to a man, but it ruins a woman. After all, it’s one thing to have a little fun oneself, but one is made to look a complete fool if it is seen that one’s wife prefers someone else.”

  “And Dolly’s husband?”

  “Oh, I believe they have an amicable enough arrangement. He certainly won’t divorce her, if that’s what you’re thinking. Why should he? No one caught him cheating at cards!”

  “Poor old Jervis,” Ashworth sighed. “What a perilous life.”

  “Talking of peril, what about all the grisly business in Cater Street? Four murders! Man must be mad. Damn glad I don’t live there.” He frowned suddenly. “You go there quite often, don’t you? That pretty little thing I saw you with at Acton’s. Didn’t you say she lived there? Liked her. Woman of spirit. Not blue-blooded, but dashed pretty.”

  Dominic opened his mouth to speak, then decided to listen instead. He liked Emily, but regardless of that, there was a certain loyalty.

  “Blue blood gets a bit tedious at times,” Ashworth said slowly, disregarding Dominic entirely. “All too strictly brought up, looking for the right marriage. I ought to marry money, I suppose, or at least some expectation of it, but so many rich young women are such utter bores.”

  Dominic remembered Emily’s determined little face. Whatever she was, and sometimes she was uncommonly irritating, she was never a bore. In her own way, she was as wilful as Charlotte, if a good deal more devious.

  “Well for heaven’s sake, George.” Danley leaned back and signalled to one of the women, holding up his empty glass. “Marry a woman of blood and money, by all means, but keep this other one as a mistress! I would have thought the answer sufficiently obvious.”

  Ashworth glanced sideways at Dominic with a grin. “Dashed good suggestion, Charlie, but not in front of her brother-in-law!”

  “What?” Danley’s face dropped, then the colour swept up his cheek.

  “Don’t care for your sense of humour, George.” He pulled one of the passing girls onto his knee, disregarding her giggle. “Uncivil of you.”

  Dominic looked at him. “Miss Ellison is my sister-in-law,” he said with distinct pleasure. “And I cannot see her settling for mistress to anyone, even someone as distinguished as George. However, you may try, by all means!”

  Ashworth was grinning broadly. He was a remarkably handsome man. “The fun is in the chase. For more generous entertainment one can always come here. Emily offers something a good deal more-interesting. Involves t
he brain, and the skill, don’t you see?”

  Sarah was always at home when Dominic returned from his nights out. She was no longer cool, nor did she mention the matter of any untoward affection between Charlotte and himself again, but he knew from her manner, and a certain reticence, that she had not forgot it. There was nothing he could do; indeed he did not seriously consider doing anything. But even so, it was unpleasant. It robbed him of a warmth, a happiness that he used to take for granted.

  The police were still questioning people. The fear was still there, although the first urgency had gone. Verity Lessing had been buried, and mourners picked up their lives again. Suspicions were presumably still festering under the surface, but the hysteria was decently controlled.

  It was October, and rapidly chilling, when Dominic ran into Inspector Pitt quite by chance in a coffeehouse. Dominic was alone. Pitt stopped by his table. Really he was an inelegant creature. No one could possibly have mistaken him for a man of society. There was no concession to fashion in him, and only a passing accommodation to convention.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Corde,” Pitt said cheerfully. “Alone?”

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Pitt. Yes, my companion has left.”

  “Then may I join you?” Pitt put his hand out onto the back of the chair opposite.

  Dominic was taken by surprise. He was not used to entertaining policemen socially, still less in public. The man seemed to have no sense of his position.

  “If you wish,” he replied with reluctance.

  Pitt smiled broadly and pulled out the chair. He sat comfortably.

  “Thank you. Is this coffee fresh?”

  “Yes. Please, help yourself. Did you wish to speak to me about something?” Surely the man was not foisting himself on him for purely social reasons? He could not be so insensitive.

  “Thank you.” Pitt poured from the pot and drank with delicately flared nostrils. “How are you, and your family?”

  Presumably he meant Charlotte. Emily was probably exaggerating, but there was no doubt Pitt did admire Charlotte.

  “Well enough, I think, thank you. Naturally the tragedies in Cater Street have not left us untouched. I suppose you are no nearer a solution?”

  Pitt pulled a face. He had remarkably mobile, expressive features. “Only insofar as we have eliminated more possibilities. I suppose that is some kind of progress?”

  “Not much.” Dominic was not in a mood to spare his feelings. “Have you given up? I observe you haven’t been to bother us any more.”

  “I haven’t thought of anything else to ask you,” Pitt said reasonably.

  “I had not noticed that’s preventing you in the past.” Damn the man. If he could not solve the crime he should call in assistance from his superiors. “Why don’t you hand over the case to someone higher up, or get help?”

  Pitt met his eyes. Dominic was made a little uncomfortable, a little self-conscious by the sheer intelligence in them.

  “I have, Mr. Corde. Everyone at Scotland Yard is bending their minds to it, I assure you. But there are other crimes, you know? Robberies, forgeries, embezzlement, corruption, burglaries, and even other murders.”

  Dominic was stung. Could the man possibly be patronizing him?

  “Of course there are! I hadn’t imagined ours was the only crime in London. But surely you consider ours to be the most serious?”

  Pitt’s smile vanished. “Of course. Mass murder is the most dreadful crime of all-the more so since it will almost certainly be repeated. What do you suggest we do?”

  Dominic was taken aback by the sheer brazenness of it.

  “How on earth would I know? I am not a policeman! But I would have thought if there were more of you, more experienced perhaps-”

  “To do what?” Pitt raised his eyebrows. “Ask more questions? We have dug up an incredible number of trivial eccentricities, immoralities, small dishonesties and cruelties, but no clue to murder-at least none that can be recognized as such.” His face became very grave. “We are dealing with insanity, Mr. Corde. It’s no use looking for reasons or patterns that you or I would recognize.”

  Dominic stared at him, afraid. This wretched man was speaking about something horrible, something hellish and incomprehensible, and it frightened him.

  “What manner of man are we looking for?” Pitt went on. “Does he choose his particular victims for any specific reason? Or is his choice arbitrary? Do they just happen to be at the right place at the right time? Does he even know who they are? What have they in common? They are all young, all pleasing enough to look at, but that is all as far as we know. Two were servants, two daughters of respectable families. The Hiltons’ maid was somewhat loose in her morals, but Lily Mitchell was entirely proper. Chloe Abernathy was a little silly, but no more. Verity Lessing mixed in high society. You tell me what they had in common, apart from being young and living in or near Cater Street!”

  “He must be a madman!” Dominic said futilely.

  Pitt pulled a bitter smile. “We had already got so far.”

  “Robbery?” Dominic suggested, then knew it was silly as soon as he had said it.

  Pitt raised his eyebrows. “Of a maid on her evening off?”

  “Were they-?” Dominic did not like to use the word.

  Pitt had no such scruples. “Raped? No. Verity Lessing’s dress was torn open and her bosom scratched quite deeply, but nothing more.”

  “Why?” Dominic shouted, oblivious of the heads turning from the other tables. “He must be a raving-! A-a-” He could think of no word. His anger collapsed. “It doesn’t make any sense!” he said helplessly.

  “No,” Pitt agreed. “And while we are trying to understand it, trying to see some sort of pattern in the evidence, we still have to do something about the other crimes.”

  “Yes, of course,” Dominic stared into his empty coffee cup. “Can’t you leave that to your sergeant, or something? The street is in a terrible state, everyone is afraid of everyone else.” He thought of Sarah. “It’s affecting even the ways we think of each other.”

  “It will,” Pitt agreed. “Nothing strips the soul quite as naked as fear. We see things in ourselves and in others that we would far rather not have known about. But my sergeant is in hospital.”

  “Was he taken ill?” Dominic was not really interested, but it was something to say.

  “No, he was injured. We went into a slum quarter after a forger.”

  “And he attacked you?”

  “No,” Pitt said wryly. “Thieves and forgers far more often run than fight. You’ve never been into the vast warrens where these people live and work, or you wouldn’t have asked. Buildings are packed so close together they are indistinguishable: any single row has a dozen entrances and exits. They usually post some sort of watchman-a child or an old woman, a beggar, anyone. And they prepare traps. We’re used to the trapdoors that open up beneath you and drop you into a sort of oubliette, a hole perhaps fifteen or twenty feet deep, possibly even into the sewers. But this was different. This fellow went upwards towards the roof, and we chased him up the stairs. I had been set upon by two other villains and was busy fighting them off. Poor Flack charged up the stairway and the forger disappeared ahead of him, dropping a trapdoor downwards, across the stairs. The thing was fitted with great iron spikes. One sliced through Flack’s shoulder, another missed his face by inches.”

  “Oh God!” Dominic was horrified. Pictures swam into his mind of dark and filthy caves and passages smelling of refuse, running with rats; his stomach rose at the thought of entering them. He imagined the ceiling slamming shut in front of him, the iron spikes driving into flesh, the pain and the blood. He thought for a moment he was going to be sick.

  Pitt was staring at him. “He’ll likely lose the arm, but unless it becomes gangrenous, he’ll live,” he was saying. He passed over the dish of coffee. “You see, there are other crimes, Mr. Corde.”

  “Did you catch him?” Dominic found his voice scratchy. “He ought to be hanged!”<
br />
  “Yes, we caught him a day later. And he’ll be transported for twenty-five or thirty years. From what I hear that’ll likely be as bad. Maybe he’ll be of some use to someone in Australia.”

  “I still say he should be hanged!”

  “It’s easy to judge, Mr. Corde, when your father was a gentleman, and you have clothes on your back and food on your plate every day. Williams’s father was a resurrectionist-”

  “A churchman!” Dominic was shocked.

  Pitt smiled sardonically. “No, Mr. Corde, a man who made his living by stealing corpses to sell to the medical schools, before the law was changed in the ’thirties-”

  “Sweet God!”

  “Oh, there were plenty of unwanted corpses around the rookeries, the slum areas of the old days. It was a crime, of course, and it demanded a good deal of skill and nerve to smuggle them from wherever they were stolen to wherever they were handed over and the money received. Sometimes they were even dressed and propped up to look like live passengers-”

  “Stop it!” Dominic stood up. “I take your point that the wretched man may not know better, but I don’t want to hear about it. It doesn’t excuse him, or help your sergeant. Let the man forge his money. What’s a few guineas more or less in the whole of London? But find our hangman!”

  Pitt was still seated. “A few guineas more or less is nothing to you, Mr. Corde, but to a woman with a child, it may be the difference between food and starvation. And if you can tell me what else to do to catch your hangman, I’ll be only too willing to do it.”

  Dominic left the coffeehouse feeling miserable, confused, and deeply angry. Pitt had no right to speak to him like that. There was nothing whatsoever he could do about it, and it was unfair he should be forced to listen.

  When he arrived home he felt no better. Sarah met him in the hall. He kissed her, putting his arms round her, but she did not relax against him. In irritation he let go of her sharply.